The Good Kind of Fall
by babybluecas
Summary: Cas could hardly wait for the fall.


Cas could hardly wait for the fall.

The summer's been long, tiring, and way too hot — nearly every day, no matter how far north the cases took them, the scorching sun seemed to have it set as its mission to make Cas's life even less bearable than it usually is. His mouth permanently parched, air burning his skin on touch, wet hair plastered to his forehead. By August he nearly forgot what it's like to not have his shirts constantly stuck to his body.

But now, the fall has come, at last, bringing along a more merciful weather. What a relief it is. What a pleasure, to breathe in the crisp air, fresh and light as it fills his lungs. To have the wind brush his face and wash the grogginess away; to have it raise goosebumps on his arms, reach up his shirt, up his spine, wipe away the memory of summer.

The first fallen leaves crunch under the soles of his sandals as he climbs up the mound, the stray blades of grass tickle his ankles. He lands his feet on the cement above the entrance to the Bunker, hands on the barrier. The edge of Lebanon, Kansas might not be the most picturesque scenery there is, by far. Throughout the billions of years of his existence, Cas has seen every season in every possible place on Earth, even as their landscapes changed at the hand of nature and at the hand of humans.

And yet he was never able to fully appreciate it, though his senses were far greater then. The change never meant much when it was so fleeting, temporary. When it never touched him.

And now? Now it's the easy breathing, the touch of wind on his cheeks, in his hair. Now it's the first glint of yellows and red in the trees, the low arch of sun traveling across the sky, its rays slipping past the clouds in magnificent beams of light. It's enough.

Below, the door grinds and Dean's head appears beneath Cas's feet hanging over the ledge.

"Cas?" he calls out, moves sharp, as he runs up the stairs. He looks to one end of the street, then the other. "Where the hell are—?"

"Here." Cas takes pity on him, though curious how long it would take Dean to notice him up there.

"What are you doing there?" The surprise on Dean's face gives way to concern. "What's wrong?"

Cas lets a soft smile on his lips. "The opposite."

Dean doesn't seem convinced. "Then what are you doing?"

"Enjoying pleasant weather conditions."

"Dude," Dean's tone drops, "you're sitting on cold concrete. Do you _want_ to get sick?"

Cas can barely stop his eyes from rolling. "I was sick of the summer," he offers for an explanation. Dean knows that part, probably too well, after three months of Cas being… vocal about his displeasure. "It's not that cold, I'm good."

"Fine." Dean shakes his head, not hiding his irritation, as he grumbles something along "I'm not giving you my kidney if yours freezes off," as he goes back inside.

"That is not—" Cas starts, but trails off as the door shuts behind Dean.

He's not given more than a few minutes of quiet, when the hinges squeak again. This time, Dean arrives equipped, with an old, thick blanket in one hand and two steaming cups in the other.

"Catch." Watchful of the cups, he throws the blanket up for Cas to grab. "Under your butt," he orders.

"You didn't ha—"

"If you're gonna be stubborn and childish, at least don't be a dumbass," he says, firmly. "Besides—" he begins to climb up the slope—"the blanket's for me, too."

Dean sits right beside Cas, their shoulders touching. No longer radiating heat, their skins no longer trying to melt into each other.

He hands Cas one of the cups. Hot steam envelops Cas's face with its spicy aroma. He blows into it, before sipping. The tea spills on his tongue hot and fragrant and so unlike that fake, sugary iced tea he had to use as a poor substitute all summer.

Cas peeks into Dean's cup, expecting black coffee.

"Tea?" he doesn't try to hide his surprise.

"It smelled so good," Dean explains with a shrug and takes a sip. "Damn, it is good."

"I've been telling you that," Cas reminds him but puts no weight on it and Dean doesn't comment.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, drinking their teas, watching the wind playing in the leaves.

"I feel like I haven't been this awake for a while," Cas confesses under his breath.

Dean snorts. "I've noticed that," he teases. "Give it a few weeks and you'll be whining about how cold you are."

Cas shudders at the very thought.

"I know," he admits with a grimace that's only there for a moment before dissolving into a soft smile. "But for now, it's perfect. Let me savor it."

"Yeah, you're right." Dean smiles too. "It is perfect."


End file.
